


been weeks i been living and your smiles are giving me all types of treble

by johniaurens



Series: call me an addict to your elastic moods [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociation, Fluff and Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Shotgunning, Slice of Life, Surgery recovery, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9266459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: MONSTER UPDATEtitles from no shows by gerard wayin case yall didnt already notice: the timelines in this series.............................dont make any sensewrt more worrying tags:- theres a sex scene in the 3rd snippet. it's kind of graphic- drugs are in 4th and 7th snippets- self harm is in 6th snippet (the snippet starts with "They're going out for dinner and John puts on an all-black outfit"); it isnt graphic & it doesnt Happen onscreen but it is discussed in detail + is kind of graphic in a hypothetical. also it's kind of heavy. take care of yourselves.read the other fics in the series (espec the 2 that come before this) first!! alex is genderfluid (boy/demiboy/agender), john is a demiboy, and gil is a trans guy. alex is autistic and john has bpd just like, for reference





	

**Author's Note:**

> MONSTER UPDATE
> 
> titles from no shows by gerard way
> 
> in case yall didnt already notice: the timelines in this series.............................dont make any sense
> 
> wrt more worrying tags:  
> \- theres a sex scene in the 3rd snippet. it's kind of graphic  
> \- drugs are in 4th and 7th snippets  
> \- self harm is in 6th snippet (the snippet starts with "They're going out for dinner and John puts on an all-black outfit"); it isnt graphic & it doesnt Happen onscreen but it is discussed in detail + is kind of graphic in a hypothetical. also it's kind of heavy. take care of yourselves.
> 
> read the other fics in the series (espec the 2 that come before this) first!! alex is genderfluid (boy/demiboy/agender), john is a demiboy, and gil is a trans guy. alex is autistic and john has bpd just like, for reference

Hospitals have always reminded John of death. 

He isn’t sure why - his mother died before he even remembers and he hasn’t lost anyone else that he was very close to. He’s spent more time in hospitals than he’d care to admit, with broken arms and legs and concussions and, once, with half of a rib in his lung, and it was never bad when he himself was the one in a bleach-white hospital bed, not even when they weren’t sure if his left hand would ever be okay again after catching a knife mid-stab with his hands and having the blade go through his palm.

Now, though, with Alex behind the closed doors with a bunch of doctors, unconscious, with tubes down his throat, John is reminded of that feeling of approaching doom and uncontrollable fear of death again. 

The chemicals. The white walls. The splatter of blood against the tile -

No. That’s not right. 

John shakes his head. There’s no blood. The floor is white and Alex is fine, Alex is getting a surgery, a surgery he _wants_ , a surgery they scheduled months ago, a surgery he’s wanted since he was thirteen. Alex is okay.

(He made John take a million photos of him the week prior to this day. 

“For comparison,” he explained, and then put his hands behind his head. It forced his spine straight, and he tilted his head back, allowed John a view of his bared throat. 

“You’re really naked,” John said, “you sure you want me to take pictures?”

Alex just sighed. His eyes had fallen closed the second John lifted the camera, lips curling into a peaceful smile, and what was John supposed to say to that so he took pictures, and then Alex cracked one eye open and smiled, and then John had to put the camera down because he had to kiss him. Alex kissed back with his hands still behind his head and John grabbed his sides, his ribs, his waist. 

John caught him looking through the photos a few hours later, curled up on their bed, still dressed just in boxers and socks. He looked a little sad so John sat down next to him and Alex lifted his gaze from the tiny screen of the camera in favor of squinting at John, eyes not fast enough in their getting used to the difference in lighting.

“What if not having them anymore will make me dysphoric,” he said. John couldn't remember when the last time he’d sounded so unsure was, and he had certainly never voiced this worry out loud before. It was generally implied that while he did not necessarily _hate_ them they were a major inconvenience at the very least. More outsider opinion making him frustrated with them than his own hate for them.

“Then we will figure something out,” John said. 

“Hm,” Alex said. Then he was quiet for a long time. John waited. 

“What if I don’t get used to not putting on my binder every morning.”

Ah. That made more sense. Alex was very particular about his routine, and putting on his binder was one of the first things he did every morning, without a fail, regardless of if they were going to actually leave the house that day or not. 

“You will.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“You got used to showering with me. Sometimes we even shower in the morning. Sometimes you even join me in the shower in the morning without me asking you to.” 

Alex went quiet. It’s his _I’m processing this information, stand by_ silence so John didn’t say anything else, just pet Alex’s back with his hand. He was warm. He was also having a good sensory day and didn’t mind the petting, even leaned into the touch a little, and John kissed his shoulder gently.)

But John is at the hospital, now, just waiting uselessly, and Alex is getting a surgery, and John half expects someone to come out and tell him that something terrible has happened, and he thinks _Alex is fine. Alex is fine,_ and when that doesn’t help he forces his stiff legs to carry him to the water fountain and he drinks a mouthful after mouthful of lukewarm water until he’s not thinking about it anymore. 

Minutes pass. John folds himself into half, puts his head between his legs. Minutes pass. Then hours start crawling by like snails. John stares at the wall and stops thinking. He’s floating. The wall against his back is solid but weird. His skin feels both oversensitive and numb at the same time. His shirt feels weird against his back. He ignores it. 

They wheel Alex out of the room another half hour later and tell John he’s allowed into the room but that Alex might not wake up for another few hours. John walks around the hospital floor a few times and after his third tour when he looks into the room again he finds Alex still lying down but awake.

Post-surgery Alex is disoriented and keeps trying to touch his chest. John has to threaten him with handcuffs just to get him to keep his hands off of the still raw wounds, which gets Alex to pout. He looks like shit coming out of surgery, lips dry and cracked, but John still wants to kiss him - no, he wants to _lick his mouth_ , and Alex’s face scrunches up when John leans in and does exactly that. 

“Gross,” says Alex. His tongue won’t listen to his brain and the word comes out slurred and slowed down to half speed. 

“Nice ad hominem, asshole,” rebuts John. 

“What,” asks Alex. 

John headbutts Alex on the chin gently and Alex, with surprising speed and strength, grabs his head and holds it there. John moves around a little until his face is pressed into Alex’s cheek. John listens to him breathe against his hair and carefully wraps his arms around his neck and shoulders to keep himself from feeling too awkward. 

He feels silly about being scared, suddenly. As if Alex would ever leave. Not that that’s what he was worrying about, not really, and then he feels even sillier. Like Alex _dying on the operating table_ would have been some sort of an elaborate plot weaved just to leave John. It’s not like that’s what he was actually worried about but now his head hurts. He’s not sure what his brain even tries to tell him half of the time and this is one of the weirdest trains of thought he’s been taken on in his life. 

“Get up here,” says Alex, all sleepy. 

“Aren’t you sore?” 

“Mhm.” 

John smiles against Alex’s face. “Don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

Alex whines. John kisses his cheek. After a second he kisses it again, and then again and again and again. Alex hums questioningly. 

“Missed you,” John says, and nuzzles into his face. 

“Well,” says Alex, and, with great difficulty now, raises his hand and touches John’s neck, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

-

Alex high on heavy duty painkillers is a sight to behold - for one, he’s unsteady even sitting down, which is funny on its own, but on top of that he insists on getting out of bed and scurrying down the hall into the kitchen as fast as his unsteady legs will carry him as soon as John looks away for a second. This, of course, means that he’s constantly running into walls and knocking himself against doorways until his hips and shoulders are bruised and tender, and that in turn means that John has to lecture him about moving _slowly_ and only when he has to after his meds. It makes Alex pouty and cute as hell and John kisses him a lot.

On top of Alex forcibly removing himself from their bed in favor of planting himself face first into the floor or the walls he has _no filter_ , which isn’t really new, he’s never had a filter to begin with, but now he’s even more unfiltered. He’s floppy and relaxed. Sweet in an open-hearted way. He wants John to pet his hair and hold his hand and then he makes up poems for John, about John, right there, just speaks them out loud, stumbles back on his sentences to correct himself so the whole thing flows better, and by the third poem John is armed with his phone’s recording app. By the second day he’s got seven poems recorded. He thinks Alex might want to hear them later, because even though they’re there half because Alex sounds really funny since his tongue still doesn’t work the way he wants it to the other half of the reason is because they’re good. _That’s my boy_ , he thinks when he listens to the recordings later, _that’s my boy drugged out of his mind. He did that. He said all that high as a kite._

Gil visits them on day six. At this point Alex is already being weaned off the drugs: he’s a lot lower on the pain scale and he’s healing nicely. They had the post-op check up the same day and the doctors confirmed that he was indeed healing well. The wounds are still not completely closed up but at this point the chance of an infection is low and because he’s getting less painkillers Alex is way more coherent. He’s only given his meds before he goes to sleep, now, to help him sleep through the night. Alex is getting a little frustrated with the fact that he can’t cuddle with John in his sleep and that absolutely no squishing is allowed, and John thinks they’re both equally ready to move on from all this. 

(Not that they aren’t both also excited - Alex came home from the hospital, tired and barely coherent, and made John help him stand in front of their mirror, made John take off the bandages. Then he said “oh” in a surprised tone and John said “what” and Alex said “they’re gone.” 

“Yeah,” John said and leaned into him, made him stand up a little straighter, “what do you think?” 

Alex went quiet for a minute. John thought he was upset but then he looked at his face in the mirror and realized that he was just struggling to stay awake. After good thirty seconds of fighting to keep his eyes open he finally plied them open with his hands.

“Cool,” he said, eyes forced open with his hands, “cool. Looks good.”

And he did and John kissed the side of his head until Alex closed his eyes again and this time refused to open them.)

Gil comes in and talks with Alex for a long, long time and the way that Gil is able to wrestle a genuine smile out of Alex so effortlessly makes John smile too. They joke and Alex pulls up his shirt, carefully removes the bandages, and shows Gil his newly smooth chest, touches it gingerly and gestures at the healing wounds, and Gil talks to him in a low, quiet voice and makes Alex smile and laugh. He doesn’t try to touch Alex but he points and talks and John can tell that whatever he’s saying is making him relax, is making him more at ease with his decision. 

John goes into the kitchen to get them lemonade like, he doesn’t know, an overbearing mother fussing over his teenage son who’s having his first boyfriend over or whatever, but Alex can’t mix alcohol with his medication and Gil drove. Besides, it’s Hercules’ lemonade, the one he makes only sometimes but when he does it’s beautiful and awesome, and Alex loves that shit which means that Alex is getting it. 

He sets the glasses on the night stand and listens. They’d been talking in French, the language easier for both of them, but the moment they realize that John’s listening they switch to English. John smiles at Alex who smiles back, just for a second. It’s such a small thing but it makes John feel warm, suddenly.

“So what you have to be prepared for is that now that you don’t have, y’know, _titties_ or whatever to balance out your hips they might look weirdly wide so don’t freak out too much.”

John snickers quietly at the word titties. Gil ignores him. Alex stares at Gil for a few seconds with a small smile.

“I wore a binder for like, seven years, Gil, I know.”

“Oh, yeah,” he looks a little sheepish for a second, “are you on T? Because that might change your body shape. I don’t know. It did for me.”

Alex points at his unshaven beard wordlessly. Gil puts his head in his hands. John snickers and hands the lemonade glasses to Gil and Alex. 

They talk. John half listens but mostly he doesn’t. At some point they switch back to French and then Alex starts wincing every so often and John makes the executive decision to get him ready for bed and Alex doesn’t protest. He gets his bandages changed with Gil’s help, gets him changed, gets him his meds, and then he watches as Alex loosely curls up his body in their bed, draws the covers up to his chin. 

John doesn’t say _I love you_ but he signs it. Alex smiles back at him, unable to sign it back with his hands under the covers, but he mouths it back. John and Gil step out of the room.

“Hey, John,” says Gil when they close the door to the bedroom. His eyes are large and dark in this light. He looks vulnerable like this. Open.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asks, softly. Gil chews on his lower lip. 

“I think me and Adrienne might break up soon.”

That isn’t what he was expecting at all, and John must have looked shocked because Gil sighs and rubs his face with both hands. He’s taller than John but he’s folded up a little into himself now, he’s made himself smaller. John puts his arm around his shoulders as well as he can and pulls him in closer. 

“Hey,” he says when Gil starts to look embarrassed, “talk to me? What happened?”

Gil goes tense. His hands curl into fists and his features turn into stone. John waits it out, and finally Gil relaxes, sighs. 

“I don’t - John, I don’t know. We’ve been together for so long. I’m scared. She says she doesn’t. She doesn’t feel anything romantic for me anymore. That we’re not getting what we want out of this relationship anymore.” 

John turns his body so he’s facing Gil and wraps his arms around him wordlessly. Gil starts crying. 

“I think she’s right, John. I don’t think I’m getting what I want out of this relationship anymore either.”

“Shh,” John mumbles, “you’ll be okay.” 

It should feel awkward. It kind of does, but at the same time all John can feel is his own heart breaking. He’s not as close to Gil as Alex is but he _loves_ him, loves him fiercely, and he can’t imagine what this must feel like for him. He and Adrienne have been together _forever_ , hell, they came to the States together. They’ve known each other since _birth_ , basically. 

“I don’t. I don’t think I can hold this together much longer.”

John doesn’t say anything, just holds him a little tighter. Gil cries and cries and John pets his back, his hair, his neck and sides and kisses his cheek every now and then. Gil shakes and John rocks him back and forth gently to soothe him, to calm him down. 

He leaves a little later, tears still streaking his face. John tells him to stay over, offers him the couch, but Gil just smiles and says he needs to get back, and John tells him to call, tells him to come by, he says that he and Alex miss him and want to see him more and Gil gives him a watery smile and promises to call and text and come over and John waves at him from the doorway until he gets into the elevator and the elevator doors close behind him. 

John feels like a deflated balloon. He puts on his pyjamas and brushes his teeth and puts his hair into a loose braid so it doesn’t get gross and tangled up while he sleeps. In the yellow light of their bathroom he wishes that the winter would pass already because he’s tired of his skin looking too pale and too yellow and he misses the sun. He misses sleeping in the sun and waking up to Alex kissing his face. He misses waking up to Alex kissing his face in general. He takes his meds and then he drinks three cups of water just so he has an excuse to stay up a little longer without doing anything. The minutes go by. John sits on the toilet lid and brings his knees to his chest and stares at his toothbrush in its mug on the counter by the sink. He doesn’t look in the mirror. He looks at the worn out wood of the counter and thinks that wood is not a good material to make bathroom counters out of. They suck in all the moisture. He doesn’t trust them. 

Tick tock. John props his chin up on his knees and stares at the wall. Through the wall. He thinks about his old bathroom in his old apartment and momentarily firmly believes that he’s in his old apartment again. After a few minutes he shakes his head, once, and immediately feels dumb for it. What was the point of it. He doesn’t know. His knees feel very large. The skin of his elbows is dry. He touches the tips of them and can’t feel the skin there and the bone feels weird. Through his dissociated state John realizes that he has to pee. He does that and then he has no excuse to stay up anymore.

He gets into bed. Alex is sleeping on his back close to the edge of his side of the bed, one arm hanging off the edge. John stares at him for a long moment before crawling into the bed and close to his body. He puts one arm over his waist and carefully, gently draws him sideways into himself a little so his hips barely touch the curve of Alex’s hip. Alex makes a sound in his sleep, a choked off _nn_ sound. John kisses the side of his neck and then buries his face into it. 

He tries not to feel hollow.

-

Alex stops needing the meds and then he gets to take his bandages off and then he’s consistently up again and bouncing from room to room with no real destination or purpose. It’s like he’s trying to spend all of that energy he’d had to repress while he was recovering any way he can now that he’s finally able to do so and it makes John ridiculously happy to watch.

Alex offers to pick up groceries, Alex cleans their bedroom and then the kitchen, Alex showers two times a day just to keep himself occupied, Alex calls all of their friends and just chats with them for hours. Alex isn’t allowed to carry the groceries home yet and he’s not supposed to do anything that’ll make him reach for stuff so John’s there with him, he does most of the physical stuff, but Alex is the brains of the projects. Alex isn’t allowed to shower for more than about five minutes at a time and he’s not supposed to let his chest soak so John’s there in the shower with him too, makes him tilt his head back so he can wash his hair without Alex’s chest getting wet. The rest of the time John spends curled up around Alex, if he’s staying still, or if he’s moving, on the couch, a mug of tea in his hands, just watching him with a smile on his face. 

Ultimately, though, it isn’t enough for him - John comes home to a spotless house with his boyfriend sitting on the couch with his laptop in his lap, squirming restlessly and visibly unhappy with whatever it is he’s doing. 

“Hey,” he says. He doesn’t mention the fact that he’s not supposed to be doing stuff like cleaning because he’s supposed to be limiting his range of motions for a few more months because Alex already looks a little guilty. 

“Hey,” says Alex. He doesn’t sound upset, or short, but he sounds a little annoyed. It isn’t aimed at John, he can tell, but he is annoyed.

“What’s up?”

Alex sighs. He wrings his hands and stretches his arms and then he rubs at his wrists. 

“Are your wrists bothering you?” he guesses, and Alex grumbles but doesn’t say anything. So yes, probably, John thinks, but that isn’t the underlying issue here. 

“You bored, baby?” he asks, and Alex sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods. 

“I’m so bored I can’t even focus on what I’m writing,” he complains and John smiles at him. There’s a plan forming in his head.

“You wanna play?” 

Which is a total hit or miss considering that Alex only recently started feeling well enough to even _think_ about sex in the abstract, but look, this isn’t a totally selfish suggestion - doing scenes sucks the energy out of Alex and there’s also the added bonus of getting to cuddle him afterwards. Well, maybe it’s a little selfish, but he _is_ suggesting it for Alex’s benefit here. 

And Alex looks at him, his eyes serious and pupils already big, eyes so dark and beautiful, and John steps forward until his thighs are at Alex’s eye level. Alex doesn’t break eye contact. 

“We’re going to have to be careful, baby boy, we’re going to have to be so gentle. You’re going to have to stay still. You’re going to have to stay silent and so, so still so you don’t hurt yourself. Can you do that?”

Alex whimpers - not really a needy sound; an acknowledging sound; a sound born out of desire. A sharp inhale, a silencing tactic. He’s already trying to keep himself quiet. 

“What’s your word?” John asks, softly. He touches Alex’s jaw with two fingers, makes him tilt his face up. Alex’s eyes flutter closed and he exhales, soft, soft, and then, in a whisper, he says “green for go. Yellow for pause. Red for stop.” 

John smiles. “Good boy. What’s your color now?”

Alex closes his eyes. “Green,” he says, voice unwavering. 

He takes Alex’s laptop from him, puts it on the coffee table. Alex doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move his fingers. John takes his hands and pulls him up to his feet. Alex stays quiet. 

“Wish you had your collar on, baby,” John whispers, and he’s so close to Alex that Alex shivers and John kisses him, kisses the corner of his mouth in the way that he knows will make Alex shudder just so he can tell Alex to stay _still_ when he does shudder. He makes sure not to go anywhere near his chest, keeps a good distance between his body and Alex’s, and Alex trembles but he doesn’t _move_. 

“Let’s play a game,” he says when he’s done breathing against the corner of Alex’s mouth, when Alex is sufficiently worked up, “you stay completely still no matter what I do. Sound good?”

Alex licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says. 

John grins wickedly, and gets on his knees. He pulls his jeans down, then his boxers,and he makes Alex put his hands in his hair and he makes him hold him down as he licks and sucks gently, teasingly, and Alex frowns down at him, thighs shaking until he gets up and leaves him alone to get supplies. 

He returns to Alex standing perfectly still where he left him. He carefully lays him down on the floor and touches him with reverence and Alex trembles but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes flutter closed and his breath slows down. John puts a light hand on his chest near his collarbone to feel the lazy beat of his heart. He can’t find it so he moves his index and middle fingers over to his carotid artery, palm splayed across the top of his chest.

Slow. Steady. John bends down to kiss his pulse point, rakes his teeth over it just to feel his pulse jump and speed up against his mouth. John pulls away. Alex’s body relaxes a little more. John can almost hear his own blood rushing through his body.

John gets his fingers in, works him open. Alex makes a soft sound in his throat that John wants to call him out on but he looks so sweet like this, so open, his hair a halo around his head on the floor, and he doesn’t, just hooks his fingers up to find whatever it was that made him make that sound. Alex doesn’t make that sound or any other sound again and John’s so proud of him, suddenly, so incredibly fond of him and he gets his other hand in there too, strokes his clit with two fingers, plays with him until his legs are tense and shaking and then stops touching him until he’s relaxed and then he adds a finger into him and removes a finger from from his clit. Three in, one on him. 

Alex whines, a frustrated thing, an annoyed sound. John nips at him warningly, just the bluntness of his front teeth, a quick thing, but it makes Alex shudder, just once but a full-body thing. Alex goes submissive, goes soft, and John takes his hand off of his clit and puts it on his belly instead, knowing full well that Alex can’t come like this. Alex knows that he knows too and looks a little angry. Just a little, though, and he doesn’t open his eyes. John rubs circles into his belly, rubs circles into him from the inside. He thinks he should be stretching him but he’s a little distracted.

John gets bored after a few minutes. Touching Alex with purpose is way more rewarding than this, especially when Alex isn’t allowed to react, and he takes his fingers and he puts them back on his clit and strokes him. Alex shudders, and then he lets out a choked off high-pitched whine that he silences after half a second because John curled his fingers up at the same time, and John feels oddly victorious. A little weird, maybe, for him to be so elated when he succeeds in his mission to break Alex’s valiant efforts of being _good_ for him. Maybe he’s a little weird. Alex likes it, though, so. Whatever. 

John takes his fingers out and wipes them on the hem of Alex’s shirt. He reaches behind himself for the lube, for the condoms, and taps Alex’s shoulder. He’s still a little too bony, shoulders a little sharp, but he’s filling out, finally. He’s less stressed. Has more time to take care of himself. 

“Color check,” John whispers, condom in hand. Alex opens his eyes to look at him. 

“Green,” he exhales, relaxed, languid, _sweet_ , and still doesn’t move, and John kisses his brow. 

And loves him, loves him, loves him.

-

“You’re eating brownies?” asks Alex from the couch. John takes another bite out of his brownie and winks at Alex.

“Am I allowed to have one?” 

John pauses mid-chew. “I think so? As long as you aren’t smoking it should be fine?”

Alex shrugs and gets up. John offers him a brownie. It’s cold from the fridge and Alex makes a face when he sinks his teeth into it. John can sympathize. He likes brownies straight from the oven, too. 

It’s three in the afternoon and neither of them is in any hurry to get high. John limits both of them to one brownie because these things are _potent_ and he doesn’t need or want Alex to try to rip open his wounds or do something equally as dumb just because he got too high and wanted to see if there was still stuff left in him that should’ve been taken out. 

They watch The Get Down on Netflix and Alex tells John that he loves Shaolin Fantastic but that he loves John more and John smiles, John lies down on the floor and Alex gets on top of him on his hands and knees, knees on either sides of John’s hips, lips inches from John’s. His pupils are so big. John thinks his eyes are going out of focus but he isn’t sure if it’s because of the weed or just because he’s so close to his face. This position alone shouldn’t be such a turn on for him but it is. Alex leans closer still and John shivers. 

“Did you know,” Alex whispers, breath sweet on John’s cheek, “that people are fucking weird.”

Huh. 

John clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, “they sure are.”

Alex stares down at him for a long time. John, half-heartedly, wills his boner to cease and desist, but it won’t and John doesn’t care enough to use all of his willpower to wilt it. Alex is warm on top of him, just looming over him, bigger than him for once. Powerful. John bares his neck to him but Alex doesn’t nip at it like he usually would, just looks down at him. 

“Baby,” he says, finally, “you’re a people.”

Huh. 

“Uh,” says John. The weed must be kicking in because he’s suddenly really fucking confused. Like, yeah, sure, he’s a person, but also, he never thought about it that way? 

“Uh.” 

Alex keeps staring. John stares back up at him. John starts feeling unsure of his existence as a person. Alex is still staring. His pupils are big. John suddenly feels irrationally afraid of him; his unwavering gaze; his teeth; the warning in his words -

Was there a warning in his words? Was the threatening John? Suddenly having Alex on top of him isn’t at all good anymore. He has no idea what’s happening anymore. Is he in danger? Are Alex’s teeth growing? Is he going to kill John?

“Alex,” he says. “Alex, Alex, Alex.” Alex keeps staring. He’s high as fuck, John’s brain recognizes vaguely, but it doesn’t really translate well to his consciousness right now. He pushes Alex off (gently, he’s still healing -) and then he scampers into the bathroom and locks the door. Alex doesn’t make a sound. 

John gets in the bathtub and closes the shower curtains and doesn’t get out until the next morning.

-

Now that Alex no longer needs as much help John finds himself way more tired without all the adrenaline that kept him ready to help Alex any time he might need help for the past weeks. In fact, he’s spending most of his time in bed again.

Another Saturday. In the middle of another five hour long nap the bedroom door opens and a sliver of light breaks the darkness of the room. John, already at the edge of his sleep, startles awake. 

“Hey,” says Alex, softly. He’s moving gently, softly like a cat, and John stretches under the covers. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he was napping at this point. What’s the point. Alex knows anyway, knows from his bleary eyes and his messed up hair, knows from his wrinkled clothes and from his phone that’s on the floor on John’s side of the bed, of the room.

“You’re on my side of the bed,” Alex says, a smile on his lips. He’s changed into a soft t-shirt. He’s not wearing pants, which isn’t really surprising. Alex tends to just. Not wear them when he’s home. He says he can’t stand the feeling of them against his skin. He’d go naked all the time if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s perpetually cold and also because he gets insecure about his body sometimes. John thinks that’s silly because Alex is beautiful and soft and so, so wonderful but Alex still gets insecure, still insists on wearing a shirt most of the time. And now after his surgery he’s even more into the whole shirt thing, but John is pretty sure it’s more because he’s scared of an infection. He’s got a family history of infections spreading into lungs and having survived one almost lethal illness he doesn’t seem to want to take dumb risks. 

“Your side? Really,” says John, feigning surprise, “I don’t know how that might have happened.” 

Alex smiles at him, his eye-crinkling smile, his bright smile, his heart breaker smile, and John can’t help but smile too. Alex had his hair cut a while ago, just a little off from his usual a little over the shoulders -length, and now it falls just below his chin. It’s pretty and looks good on him, makes his hair a little fluffier, allows stray hairs to curl up a little. It dries wavy nowadays and John loves it. It compliments Alex’s eyes, weirdly enough. Accentuates the shape of his jaw, his cheekbones. It makes him look young. It makes him look vulnerable and soft. John wants to comb his fingers through his hair. He knows it smells like honey and he wants Alex close enough to his face for him to smell it.

“Mhm,” says Alex. He stares at John expectantly. 

“I don’t know if I can move,” John admits, “I feel weak and tired. Surely if I rolled over I would die.”

Alex frowns playfully. “I’ll roll you over.” 

John gasps in mock-horror. He _is_ a little weak from his unplanned nap that will probably come back to haunt him when he tries to fall asleep later that night, but Alex still shouldn’t really roll him over. Alex approaches him with his arms extended and John rolls out of the way and onto his own side of the bed, still wrapped in the duvet. He emerges from his duvet burrito, pouting, and Alex grins at him, already lying down next to him. It’s a little awkward since he’s lying on his back but John still thinks it’s incredibly endearing. He removes one arm from the duvet burrito and uses it to brush Alex’s hair out of his face. 

“You’re cute,” Alex whispers when John inches closer. John’s heart stutters in his chest, both at the words and at the tone. He’s warm, suddenly. He doesn’t say anything, just leans into Alex’s personal space and kisses his forehead, then his cheeks, one at a time. Alex closes his eyes and smiles blissfully. John pulls away and then kisses his nose, his chin. Alex angles his face towards John and John can’t stop himself from smiling. 

“You wanna get under the duvet?” John asks when he’s done. 

Alex smiles again and his eyes crinkle. “So generous. Yes.”

John tugs one end of the duvet from underneath himself and offers it to Alex, who throws it over himself and shuffles in closer. John puts his arms over Alex. It’s kind of awkward but he really wants to touch Alex and Alex doesn’t protest. 

“Are you going to tell me to get out of bed?” he asks. He tries to make it into a joke but he fails a little. Alex looks a few inches to the side of his face instead of into his eyes as usual and says “no.”

John processes this information. Chews on it a little to turn it into digestible chunks. He decides not to challenge it. 

Alex curls into him, back to chest. John gets to bury his face into Alex’s hair. He smells like honey, just like John thought he would.

-

They’re going out for dinner and John puts on an all-black outfit. This isn’t new, but Alex still makes fun of him for it, says “hey, Laurens, didn’t know you were still in your emo phase.” John looks down at his black sweater and his black jeans and his black shoes and grins.

“My outfit is black like my soul.” It’s the tackiest, most emo shit he could possibly have said, and it has the intended effect. Alex laughs and his voice is beautiful. 

“Careful, don’t cut yourself on that edge,” Alex says, all smiles. He’s pretty. His hair is tucked behind his ears, the bits that are too short to stay tucked in framing his face. John loves him and wants to make him laugh. 

So naturally, what leaves John’s mouth is “I already cut myself.”

Alex’s smile fades away so fast John can almost feel the whiplash. “What.”

John blanches. Oh shit. “What?” Damage control, y’know? Maybe if he pretends he didn’t say anything Alex will think he didn’t say anything too and leave him alone?

“John.”

Or not.

John sighs. “I have no idea why I said that.”

“You said you were clean?”

And he was, he _is_. That’s the thing. He hasn’t touched a blade of any sort in that way in months. He’s okay. He’s not doing that shit anymore. 

“I am. I am, fuck, I don’t know why I said that.”

“Baby. Arm check.”

“Okay. Okay. Yeah.”

John peels back his sleeves. Alex comes in closer, takes his hands into his own. John knows Alex isn’t going to find anything but white scars, already faded to almost nothing, but he still feels ashamed. 

“Do I have to check elsewhere?” asks Alex after a few seconds of silence. John shakes his head slowly. He’s never cut anywhere other than his wrists and Alex knows it. The fact that Alex doesn’t trust him enough to trust his own eyes feels so incredibly awful he doesn’t even have words for it. His body feels frozen. “Are you sure, sweetheart?” John shakes his head again. He hasn’t. He knows. 

He knows, right? Does he know? Is he sure? 

Suddenly he isn’t. What if he _did_ do it? What if he took the blades out of his razor and cut his thighs up? Or his stomach? Maybe he did that. Maybe he didn’t throw his old razor blades away after all. Maybe he still keeps a knife by his bed. He has no idea. What if he just convinced himself that he didn’t? That he doesn’t? 

“Baby,” says Alex. His voice is low. Maybe John hadn’t been believable enough. Alex allows him to tug his hands free of his grip and John starts taking off his clothes quietly. His heart is in his throat. He tugs his shirt over his head and then he kicks off his jeans and the entire time Alex stares, a little bewildered, and when John is done he just shuffles his legs open until he’s standing there in his boxers, shivering. He has to cross his arms across his chest because he can’t handle not doing that. He feels vulnerable in a bad way. Alex looks at him with look that’s a mix of shock, sadness, and pity. John feels dumb and silly. A little childish. 

“Hey,” says Alex, and then he’s approaching, “can I touch you?”

John nods. He’s numb. If Alex hits him now he’ll probably be okay afterwards. Alex puts his hands on his shoulders and pulls him into a hug. John stands still, stiff. Alex is warm against him, his chest moving with his breaths. He’s standing far enough that they’re not pressed together too tightly but John can still feel him against himself, solid and real. 

Alex talks him into sitting down and putting his head between his legs. John wants to tell him that he isn’t having a panic attack and that this won’t help but he does it anyway because he needs to do _something_. Alex puts his hands on John’s back and traces the length of his spine. They stay like that until John remembers that they should have left the apartment ages ago and that he’s hungry and that Alex must be hungry as well and this must be fucking with Alex’s schedules and then he finally has an anxiety attack. 

Alex holds him through it. Alex gets him water when he’s finished. Alex hands him his clothes and takes his hand when he’s dressed again, kisses his cheeks. John pretends he isn’t crying. Alex doesn’t shush him. John cries and then he has to stop for a second to rub his wrists with his fists to make sure he didn’t imagine them, didn’t make his own wrists up. 

Minutes tick by. Alex hums occasionally but doesn’t say anything. John breathes and knows that he’ll have to talk about this eventually. He looks at the clock on the nightstand. It’s eight. He takes a shuddering breath and Alex helps him out of his jeans and then into bed, and John holds out his shaking arms until Alex cautiously, carefully crawls into the bed with him. John buries his face into Alex’s shoulder and tries to stop shaking. Alex turns off the lights and pets his hair. 

John dreams of nothing but darkness.

-

John comes home to find his rolling paper and the little Ziploc bag of weed that he’s been storing in his underwear drawer on their bed.

“Alex?” he calls out. Alex comes out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. There’s a glint in his eyes, an amused one, a wild one, and John knew what he wanted to do with the drugs, like, he could _guess_. He’s smart, okay. Alex tells him he’s smart all the time. He knew. He’s just confirming.

“It’s been long enough that I’m allowed to smoke again,” Alex whispers, and the look on his face is half-excited, half anxious, and John smiles a little. It’s Friday. He thinks _fuck it_. If he gets called in tomorrow then he’ll just say he’s sick or on the other side of the country or something. Whatever. He’s deserved his weed and so has Alex. 

He rolls up a joint quietly, practiced, and Alex comes to sit down next to him, puts his head on John’s shoulder and just watches. John offers the first hit to Alex, who takes a drag slowly, almost cautiously. John watches him for any worrying reactions, prepared to help if he starts coughing or choking, but Alex doesn’t and John still stares at him. Watches his throat move as he swallows. He wants to put his fingers over his throat and feel it move. He wants to put his mouth over it and feel the vibrations when he speaks or clears his throat.

Alex looks at him, and John takes a drag from the joint. Alex smiles; a loose smile, a relaxed one. John pulls him in for a kiss and Alex goes willingly, kisses him soft, all open mouthed and relaxed. 

John likes Alex like this - loose-limbed and without hurry. He likes the way he seems to finally slow down and focus on what’s going on instead of what he should be doing. He gets soft. He gets more affectionate, too, which is definitely a bonus that John plans on taking an advantage of. 

They sit in silence for a bit, just passing the joint to each other and kissing every now and then. John feels very light. His body feels heavy but real. He feels very contained in his body. He feels okay. He feels good. 

“Hey,” says Alex, softly, and when John looks at him as he takes a drag, doesn’t inhale. Alex puts his hand on John’s cheek and John opens his mouth, eyes falling shut. Alex gets close, his eyelashes a tickle on John’s face, and then he exhales the smoke into John’s mouth. 

John has to close his eyes. Alex doesn’t take his mouth off right away, just stays there breathing softly against his mouth. John puts his hands on Alex’s shoulders, grasps at the fabric of his shirt that he finds there. Alex leans in a little more and kisses him properly. His mouth is hot-dry and tastes sickly sweet and John wants to put his tongue into his mouth and lick until he feels normal again, but he doesn’t. He lets Alex nip at his lips cautiously, carefully, and when Alex climbs into his lap he leans back, bares his throat until Alex takes the hint and kisses down his face, his jaw, pauses for a second to kiss behind his ear, and then he scrapes his teeth down the front of his throat. John shudders and when Alex takes his mouth off of his skin he leans back all the way until he’s lying down on his back. 

Alex looks down at him and it feels like a déjà vu, like a flashback, but Alex repositions himself to sit lightly on John’s hips to find his balance and drapes himself over John’s body. John puts a hand on Alex’s cheek and kisses him, and Alex is still slow, still languid, still soft and pliable in his arms. He kisses like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Just with less urgency. With less intent. Like he’s just happy to be there, happy to touch and be touched in return. John pulls away and kisses the corner of Alex’s mouth, slow and unhurried, breathes soft over it, and Alex shivers, shifts. John doesn’t buck up into him but he wants to. 

Alex stops kissing him eventually. He pulls off a little to take another hit and then he makes John sit up and crawls into his lap again. They sit like that for a minute, Alex’s head on John’s shoulder, trying to make himself smaller, John’s arms around him loosely. Then Alex sighs heavily and kisses John again, just a few pecks on his lips, and rubs both hands down each of John’s arms. 

“I love you more than I love anything else in the world,” Alex mumbles and then he noses at John’s cheek, “I love you more than I love arguing.”

If John wasn’t high he’d probably find that funny but now it just feels incredibly soft and touching. He’s reminded of Alex, high on painkillers, rambling on and on about how John’s his favourite punctuation mark, how the shape of his nose reminds him of brackets and how he wants to be bracketed by his body as if that made any sense. He wraps his arms around Alex a little tighter, a little protective. 

“I love you more than I love anything else in the world,” John repeats, but he doesn’t know what else he loves a lot so he says “I love you more than turtles.”

Alex laughs. “You don’t even like turtles that much.”

“Look, I don’t know what I love, maybe I just love you. Maybe you’re the only thing I love.” 

Alex goes quiet. He kisses John’s cheek, and then a second later, seemingly after thinking it through goes in for a more thorough kiss. John doesn’t protest, because hello, kisses, and because Alex is so soft and warm on top of him. A little heavy, maybe, but John works out, he can take it. He could lift Alex with one hand, he’s pretty sure. Alex pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I love you,” Alex says, very seriously. He puts his hands on either side of John’s face, a little clumsy. “I need you to know that.”

John nods, solemn. “I know. I love you too.” 

Alex makes a humming noise. He curls into himself and John pulls him in closer until he’s flush against his skin. He closes his eyes and thinks about how everything that’s happening is real, and good, and there. He thinks about how Alex is warm, and has knobby knees, and how his rib cage sticks out just a little too much, but how he’s learning to eat enough to keep him alive. He thinks about how he’s tired of feeling unworthy of love. He thinks about how Alex kisses him awake sometimes and shivers. 

He thinks _love_. And he doesn’t think it sarcastically.

**Author's Note:**

> wrt the 4th snippet: john had a bad time bc of his stress levels tm mixed w his pre-existing paranoia. alex probably had No idea what was happening
> 
> yell at me on tumblr @laflams or on twitter @lams4lams


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